I Feel Pretty
by AbstractConcept
Summary: After the war, Harry runs into Draco, and Draco’s dirty little secret. A misunderstanding ensues. HPxDM, humor, crossdressing.


**TITLE**: I Feel Pretty  
**AUTHOR: **AbstractConcept (aka theconcept)  
**DISCLAIMER**: Belongs to J.K. Rowling, etc  
**BETA**: The Nimble noesnifunifa, and the Deadly detefabula (and what philosophical names you both have!), and all further mistakes are mine. And Gemsbock helped, too.  
**NOTES: **Crossdressing for Adelesparks. The mutated fic that I told you about. Seriously, why'd you go and do that to me?  
**SUMMARY**: After the war, Harry runs into Draco, and Draco's dirty little secret. HP/DM, humor/smut.

**I Feel Pretty**

Harry trudged up the stairs, looking at his mud-encrusted boots. _What a raid,_ he thought tiredly. _What a **night. **_They'd arrested the last of the Death Eaters earlier that evening—Mulciber, whose use of the Imperius Curse had nearly saved him—and it had been a rough capture. Now all Harry wanted was to strip—

Passing by the third door from the top of the steps, Harry paused. He'd gotten a glimpse of rosy flesh and turned his head instinctively. There was a young man in the room, his back turned to the door, wrapped like a Christmas parcel in a pink corset, stockings, and ribbons. Harry gaped.

He'd only come to the Leaky Cauldron because he was too tired to Apparate home, but if _this _was the sort of lewd behaviour people engaged in here these days—without even bothering to shut the door—!

But the door _was _shut. Harry could just make out the knob. _Fuck. _He'd left the on Exposing Enchantment he'd put on his glasses. He really shouldn't be looking through doors at people. Or so he tried to tell himself. Warmth flooded his face—and his trousers were beginning to heat up as well.

Then the young man turned, his face still tilted to one side; evidently, he was critiquing himself in a mirror. Harry could just make out a furrowed brow, a slight suggestion of a frown on the coral lower lip. He wondered what the bloke found so objectionable: every inch of flesh that peeked out of its lacy sheath was smooth and lovely, his posture was perfect, his profile was sleek, his pose a flawless blend of _come hither _and _you're not good enough. _Wait, where had Harry seen that posture before?

The youth turned, his handsome face now touched with smugness.

Harry gasped. _Draco Malfoy! _He gulped, glancing around, adjusting his robes slightly. _Draco Malfoy? _He should probably leave, before someone saw him here. _Draco Malfoy…_ But here was the _perfect _opportunity for all the crap Draco had ever pulled!

Harry wrenched the door open. His defensive spells were still up, so the locks were no match for his increased strength. "Draco Malfoy!" he exclaimed triumphantly.

Draco's cheeks coloured and his eyes narrowed. He didn't really seem all that embarrassed to be caught in women's knickers. "I have to assume that your Muggle relations never taught you to knock or wait for doors to be unlocked, the way civilised people do?"

Harry looked down at the brass knob still clutched in one hand, minus the door it had been attached to. "Er, sorry," he said. "Here, I can fix it! _Reparo!_" he cried, after sticking the knob back in place and tapping it with his wand. "There! Good as new!"

He turned to find an unimpressed-appearing Malfoy leaned against the back of a loveseat, smoking a long, thin cigarette. A tall, silvery mirror presided over the east end of the room, stretching from floor to ceiling. "The service round here is wonderful. They've hardly broken things before they've fixed them again," Draco remarked coolly.

Harry felt himself start to flush. "I don't work here—and you're—you—dressed—I—never—"

Draco nodded solemnly, his smoky eyes darker than Harry usually saw them. He wondered if it was the contrast in colours, or if—"Yes. I wear clothes. People wear _clothes, _Harry. Very good. Want a biscuit?"

Harry's chest roared with anger and humiliation—where did Draco get off, dressing like a whore and acting all composed, and treating Harry like some sort of thick Neanderthal—but then Draco reached over the loveseat, and he really _did _have a plateful of biscuits. "Oh. Uh, sure, I guess," Harry responded, put off. This whole _situation _was off-putting.

Draco slipped around the loveseat, sinking down into the cushions, kicking his legs up over the arm and crossing them at the ankle. "Where _are _my manners? Please, take a seat."

Harry bit into a biscuit and closed his eyes as a bit of chocolate heaven slid over his tongue. These were _good_—then he wondered if they were cursed or something. He went around the side of the loveseat and furtively glanced about for a bin or something he might spit in. Draco was watching him, eyebrows raised. "Mffph. Grd," Harry managed to say through his mouthful.

Malfoy winced a little. "They're from…an acquaintance of mine who is fond of French chocolate. You know, if you don't enjoy them, at least be honest," he said with a sigh, getting to his feet and sweeping the plate from Harry's hands. Harry tried not to be too disappointed, and attempted to pay attention as Draco started talking again, setting the plate on a small table. "I'm not enamoured of them, myself," he was saying, as Harry took a seat in a large armchair. "I prefer lighter things, fruity things—like strawberries. But oh, how he loves his rich, sugary chocolates," Draco said darkly.

"Mph?" Harry said. To his alarm, the chocolate was melting on his tongue, and he was going to have to swallow.

Draco perched on the arm of Harry's chair. "What's the matter?" Slowly, his eyes lit with realization. "Did no one ever teach you how to swallow?" he asked with a wink.

Harry choked a bit, and Draco patted him delicately on the back. "Merlin, Malfoy, what the hell is wrong with you?" Harry gasped, when most of the biscuit had finally gone down.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Chocolate's a bit too much for someone vanilla like you, hmm?" He kicked his legs over and slid onto Harry's lap.

Harry looked up, surprised. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing you're not eager for me to do," Draco responded, leaning forward.

His lips were warm—really warm—and Harry was a bit shocked, because Draco was always so pale, his attitude so icy. Unconsciously, Harry's fingertips settled on Draco's bare shoulders. They were warm, too. Silky, and warm, and _god, _was that Malfoy's tongue brushing against his lips? Harry shivered.

Malfoy finally came up for air, leaving Harry weak, his head resting on the back of the chair. Draco's nose and cheeks were dusted with colour, and Harry reached up, took hold of the thick pink ribbon tied around Draco's neck, and pulled him down into another kiss.

Malfoy's hands were skittering along Harry's chest, and it took Harry a few minutes to realize his buttons were being undone. He was being undressed by his foe—by _Malfoy, _onwhom he'd been fixated nearly from their first meeting. It was unreal.

His own hands were cupping Draco's arse, warm and encased in the slinkiest, laciest, _kinkiest _panties Harry could imagine. Just knowing it was _there _was making Harry get hot all over. He felt a hardness pressing against his stomach, and _really _flushed. "Malfoy, I think your gender just unbent," he said in a strangled voice.

Draco stopped kissing him to sniff derisively and did a bit of a double take at seeing Harry's face. "Potter, are you _blushing?_ That's…rather charming in a pathetic, virginal sort of way."

"Shut up," Harry grated and silenced the enemy with another long kiss. Before he knew it, he was no longer wearing a shirt, his heated skin brushed by the room's cool air and Malfoy's cool fingertips.

Harry's hands were kneading the soft skin of Draco's bum, and the blond gave a rather delighted whimper. Harry felt smug. He made Draco whimper. He'd always wanted to.

"You're rather good at this," Draco whispered.

"You're not half bad yourself."

Draco scowled. "Not half _bad?_ Stop insulting me and lose the pants."

The full implications of the situation suddenly sank in. Harry gulped in air, hands abruptly jerking down to cover his crotch. "What?"

"What did you think was going on here, Potter? Were you under the impression that we were about to play tiddlywinks?"

"Shut up! No! How do you even know about tiddlywinks—that's a Muggle game!" Harry shouted, desperate for some kind of distraction.

"Oh, belt up and let me play with _your _tiddlywinks," Malfoy said with a leer.

"GAH!" Harry didn't know quite what happened; perhaps he convulsed at that point. All he knew was that suddenly Malfoy was on the floor, rubbing his elbow and scowling.

"Thank you very much," he grumbled. "Why don't you just cast _Sectumsempra_ again and disembowel me while you're at it?"

"That was an accident!" Harry insisted, getting out of the chair and kneeling beside Draco. "And so was this. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Kiss it and make it better?" Draco responded archly. To his surprise, Harry leaned forward and kissed his arm.

"Wow, your elbows are really soft," he said. At Draco's consternated look, he shrugged. "Elbows are safe territory," he explained. "I can kiss elbows."

"I see. So, why don't we start with elbows, then?" Draco replied, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Harry's elbow. "Gods, Potter, have you never heard of emollients? It's like kissing a gravel road! No, never mind." He turned Harry's arm over, sucking lightly on Harry's forearm. "That's much softer," Draco said with satisfaction.

Harry thought his face would probably glow in the dark by now. "Um. If we're going to kiss elbows, d'you think we could do it less erotically? It's kind of making me uncomfortable."

"You're a bit of a prude for sitting there in nothing but your trousers next to a man wearing a corset," Malfoy pointed out.

"Don't remind me," Harry moaned. "How did I get myself into this again?"

"No one can resist the sexual splendour of Draco Malfoy." Draco kissed his way up Harry's bicep, nipping him on the shoulder.

Harry shivered a little. "Hey! No biting! How do I know you don't have venomous fangs or something?"

Draco gave him a patient smirk. "Yes, with my patent leather heels and silk camisole, venomous fangs add a certain panache to my array of accessories, really. Will you be calm? I'm not going to hurt you—unless you want me to."

Harry let his head fall back as Draco's lips, teeth and tongue carefully mapped out his upper torso. Now that he thought about it, it really wasn't so frightening. It was actually rather heady, especially when Draco's lips returned to his own, kissing him fiercely, his clever hands gently manoeuvring Harry so that he was flat on the floor.

Harry felt a chill creep up his spine when he realized how vulnerable he was with Draco Malfoy smiling down at him, straddling his stomach. Draco took in the slight tremble of Harry's hair. "Cold? Or just pure out terrified of me and my ravenous glory?"

Harry shook his head. "Not _scared,_" he insisted. "Just…cautious. I don't do one-night stands, you know, and…well, I'm a fighter at heart. I can't help but think this is all some elaborate ruse to get me all naked and defenceless, just so you can take advantage and—"

"I'm not going to _kill _you, you simpleton," Draco replied sharply. "Which one of us has his legs spread here? No…if I were going to do something horrible, it'd likely be along the lines of blackmail. Little Colin Creevey in the closet with a camera, capturing the conqueror, the illustrious Harry James Potter, magnificent studly manhood fully revealed, being ridden into the sunset by one angel fallen from grace, Draco Malfoy."

Harry winced at this. "Er. But you're not going to do that, are you?"

"No. I _would, _if not for the fact that the corset and stockings would make the front page of _The Prophet _right along with your fabulous pink—"

"Well, thank you for _that, _at least," Harry mumbled.

"I wouldn't thank me. You're the clever one to have come up with it," Draco remarked cryptically. "And anyway, why the devil are you thanking me for _that, _rather than for undressing you and letting you shag my brains out?"

Harry tried not to meet Draco's eyes, and the young man slid down, undoing his trousers.

"Lovely shade, Potter—what do you reckon, tomato or tomahto? I suppose you'd say tomato, backward thing that you are. Still and all, I suppose some would find it cute."

Harry scowled. "Stop gabbing, Malfoy. I'd like to exercise the ferret, if you don't mind."

Now it was Malfoy's turn to give Harry a dirty look. "Oh, _very _rich." He yanked Harry's trousers and pants down rather roughly, and Harry tensed. "I think I'll wipe that smile right off your face," Draco continued and lowered his head.

Harry's first, rather bizarre thought was that Malfoy was about to bite him. He just couldn't seem to get it through his head that Malfoy, though still terribly snobbish and smug, was _not _the enemy. He'd been forced into the war by circumstances beyond his control—although it was likely the same path he'd have chosen anyway—and he'd paid dearly for being on the losing side. His estates and bank accounts were all confiscated, Lucius was imprisoned, and Narcissa had died at Voldemort's orders.

Harry tried to tell himself to pity Draco, rather than hating the man.

Then he was enveloped in wet, silken heat, and all such noble thoughts flew from his head. "Oh _god, _Malfoy," he rasped.

Draco stopped long enough to pull back and give Harry an arrogant look. "Told you I'd wipe that smile off," he said.

"Please don't stop," Harry replied.

It was like nothing Harry had ever experienced before. The few girls he'd found discrete enough to sleep with were soft, gentle, rather quiet and reserved. Draco was anything but. Even with his mouth full, Draco moaned, his well-manicured hands digging into Harry's hips as Harry tried to arch off the floor and fly.

Finally, Draco let go of Harry with a faint popping noise, his hair a mess. Looking annoyed, he said, "Stop thrusting, damn you! Do you want me to tie you down on the coffee table?"

"S—sorry," Harry answered insincerely.

"I have a well-developed gag reflex, and you're a bit too enthusiastic," the blond explained.

"Oh. Er, then what do you want to do?"

Draco hesitated, surprising Harry. He'd rarely seen his rival anything but forthright and sure of himself. "I could ride you," he offered, opening a drawer in the table and getting out a tube of lubricant.

Harry's body rather liked this idea. "Wow. Yeah, we could do that, definitely," he said eagerly, his face lighting up.

Draco shook his head, preparing himself without waiting for Harry to offer to assist. "You're really not as impressive up close and in person, you know," he offered. "All those articles in _Witch Weekly _make you out to be some sort of mysterious, taciturn Casanova. Not the stupid, giggly twit that I know and love."

"…that you what?" asked Harry, half-distracted by Malfoy positioning himself above Harry.

"_Nothing,_" Draco said firmly, sliding down. They both sighed as Draco began to move.

Draco leaned over, his hair falling rakishly over his forehead, brushing against Harry's cheek as his lips brushed against Harry's ear. "Oh, you _are _a stallion," he growled as Harry's hips lifted involuntarily. "I like how you let me take control, yet you're not completely able to give it up." To Harry's consternation, he seemed to be earnest.

"God, that feels incredible," Harry muttered, hands circling Draco's lace-kissed hips.

"Everything I do is incredible," Draco replied, his voice rough with lust. "I'm a _Malfoy_."

By turning his head, Harry could see their reflection, Draco's pale, pixie face a mask of intense concentration, a rosy blush creeping down his neck and pale chest, nipples as erect as his—

"Can I touch you?" Harry choked out, looking up with pleading green eyes.

Draco blinked. "Merlin. Yes. If you hurt me, I'll kill you," he warned.

Empty threats. Malfoy wasn't even allowed a wand anymore. Still, it was amazing to feel that pulsing heat in his hand, to watch Draco's eyes widen and then slam shut, his hips moving faster, trying to match Harry's pace.

His mouth was open just a little, forming _Potter _soundlessly, and Harry turned his head again to watch Draco's brutal movements, his hands clawing at Harry's chest right over the old scars. Harry could see himself, as well, and was surprised this aroused him so much, to see his own length disappearing and reappearing, his skin slick with sweat, unruly hair still valiantly upright, bouncing into his eyes, his glasses askew.

He traced one thumb over the top of Draco's stocking, marvelling at the obscene combination of masculine and feminine. Draco was so very talented, thighs tense with the effort of supporting his body's rise and fall, which was both rough and sweet, and everything Harry had ever needed.

Draco came with his forehead pressed against Harry's, hands tight on Harry's sweaty shoulders. "Oh Merlin, Merlin, Merlin," he panted, and then his eyes flew open. For a long moment, they were still, looking into one another's eyes. Tentatively, Draco shifted again, and Harry's heart thundered, one of his hand reaching up to cup Draco's skull and pull him into a deep kiss.

In the afterglow, they remained on the floor, one of Draco's pale fingers running up and down the long, thick scar that had been the curse that almost killed him.

"Don't," Harry said forcefully, pushing the hand away. "Don't do that. It's an ugly reminder."

"Of what?"

"Of everything I lost. Of the fact that I—that I'm not the same anymore. I'll never be like you, you know, all perfect and—_pretty_," he mumbled.

Draco laughed bitterly. "Some scars are on the inside, as well as a good deal of ugliness. Anyway, you ought to be proud of that scar. It's a reminder of something else, for me."

Harry wasn't sure he ought to, but he asked anyhow. "Of what?"

Draco's smile twisted with nostalgia. "Of a brash young boy that never said die. Of a time in my life when I realized the difference between a leader and a lunatic. And…and of hope, perhaps, as well. You know, I lost everything you lost—my family, my friends, and my fortune. If you can keep going, and you're just a lowly Gryffindor… Besides, it's really rather virile."

Harry chuckled softly. "Well. I still don't see myself going for that male modelling job anytime soon, but thanks."

"You're welcome."

There was a pre-emptive knock at the door, and suddenly Severus Snape loomed above them, his eyebrows raised.

"Well, I didn't request a ménage a trois with Harry Potter of all people, but I suppose it's a rather creative gift, so long as you don't charge me extra," he said cavalierly to Draco, shutting the door behind him. "Remember, I'm living off a teacher's salary."

Draco looked from Harry, who was desperately trying to find his pants, to Snape and back again. "Wait a moment. Potter, does this mean you weren't the one who paid for the corset and stockings, with chocolate on the side?"

"Dear God, you make yourself sound like an order of fast food!" Harry exclaimed, stumbling as he managed to get one leg into his trousers. "Does this mean you're a whore? For _Snape, _no less?"

Draco waved a hand dismissively. "For anyone, if he pays enough. What did you think I did to survive? I've no wand, no money, and this is practically all I'm good at. That and making snide comments about you, though I've little hope you'd pay me for that."

Harry paused, looking clearly at Malfoy for the first time. "You mean…you only slept with me because you thought I'd paid for it?" he asked, pained.

Draco had the grace to look embarrassed. "Does this mean that you weren't intentionally trying to humiliate me by dressing me up as a girl and boffing me?"

Harry was furious. "No! I wouldn't do that!"

"Right, right. Vanilla." Draco managed a small smile, and Harry calmed down a little bit.

Then he rounded on Snape. "Get out of here! What do you think you're doing, fornicating with former students?"

"…Everyone has to shag _someone,_" Snape replied petulantly. "And Lucius is locked up."

"I'll get you conjugal visits, then!" Harry snapped. "Now go away!" He turned back to Draco. "And I'll see what I can do about your…you know, your estates and money and all that," he said as Severus slipped quietly out. "I have a lot of pull with the Ministry."

"That I don't doubt, but I don't need your charity," Draco retorted, rising from the floor and reaching for his camisole, still completely unashamed of his nakedness.

"It's not charity, you great git. It's—it's—a favour, or a gift or something."

"Most men just send flowers or jewellery," Draco pointed out. "Does this mean…are you….did you want…?" he trailed off.

"Er, yeah," Harry said, ducking his head. "I'd like to see you again. But only if you want to! And I won't—you know—_pay _for it. But if we did it more than once, and saw each other outside of bed on occasion, I might send you some…I don't know, flowers or strawberries or something. Fruits for the fruit," he added teasingly.

Malfoy pursed his lips, lighting another slim cigarette. "Better for my girlish figure than chocolate," he said, as Harry dressed.

When Harry finished, he headed for the door, stopping and looking over his shoulder to say, "Ah…you wouldn't mind wearing that again on occasion, would you?" His ears reddened.

Slowly, Draco grinned around the cigarette. "I suppose not. I rather like it myself," he replied, blowing Harry a kiss goodbye. "I actually feel quite…pretty."

Harry shook his head in wonder, watching Draco suck the poisonous vapours into his lungs with the same aplomb as Clint Eastwood—minus the pink lingerie, of course. He returned Draco's grin somewhat crookedly. "Yeah, you look kinda pretty, too. See you later—and—er—enjoy your drag." He laughed as he waltzed away to the music of Draco's unappreciative groan.


End file.
